


Rule You Day And Night

by OldandKinky



Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Breeding, But like the soft version, Couvade syndrome, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Morality, Forced Feminization, Inappropriate use of Axii, M/M, Male Lactation, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pregnancy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 11:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldandKinky/pseuds/OldandKinky
Summary: Anonymous asked: "i don't really care what pairing (though i'm partial to geraskier and geraskefer), but axii/mind control used to make jaskier accept feminization. not super into hard body modification, but i like breeding/pretend pregnancy, as well a male lactation, but wherever this takes you is fine!!!"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200035
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	Rule You Day And Night

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: "i don't really care what pairing (though i'm partial to geraskier and geraskefer), but axii/mind control used to make jaskier accept feminization. not super into hard body modification, but i like breeding/pretend pregnancy, as well a male lactation, but wherever this takes you is fine!!!"

The bard is obnoxious. Geralt does his best to get rid of him, but apparently his best isn't good enough. Jaskier stays, and he keeps being obnoxious.

The bard is, also, randier than a teenager. A mild breeze seems to be enough to set him off, and Geralt finds himself surrounded by the near constant scent of arousal. It's annoying, and worst of all, it affects him more than he would like.

The thing is, Geralt doesn't care for men all that much. He'll take one, if he hasn't gotten off with another person in too long and nobody else is available, but it's not his preference. And the bard is, without a shadow of a doubt, a man. He's tall and broad and hairy, but when Geralt looks at his face, he could just as easily imagine that he's a woman. His features are soft with youth yet, his eyes so big, his lashes long, his mouth plush.

They fall into bed half a year after Posada. Geralt hasn't found a brothel that would take him in for weeks, and he just needs to sink into a warm body for a while, and Jaskier is more than willing. Geralt rolls him onto his stomach and presses his face into the bedroll, and the bard's arse feels divine. The sounds he makes are sweet, too, enthusiastic and oh so pleased, and Geralt leans down and sucks and bites at the back of his neck. Jaskier comes around him without a single touch to his cock, crying his pleasure to the dark sky, and Geralt ruts into him hard and fast until he, too, finds his peak.

It becomes routine quickly. Jaskier has been interested in him from the start, and now that Geralt has bridged the gap, the bard is only too eager to act on his impulses. He spreads his legs for Geralt at any given opportunity, sucks the Witcher's cock with enthusiasm, and Geralt stares into those big blue eyes, and an idea forms in his head.

Jaskier goes under so easily when Geralt casts Axii, it's almost concerning. "You're my pretty girl," he tells the bard, "and you love nothing more than my cock in your sweet, hungry cunt."

The bard takes to the command like a duck to water. He's not fighting it at all, and that's a thought that has Geralt's imagination spiralling with what else he could make Jaskier do.

After that first command, that has Jaskier begging Geralt to please,  _ please _ fuck his cunt, he's so empty and he needs it, "Please, Geralt, I  _ need you _ to fuck my cunt," come smaller, more harmless things. Jaskier's hair grows quickly anyway, and soon it's down to his chin, and then his shoulders, and he keeps letting it grow. Geralt loves to wrap it around his fist as he fucks Jaskier, and the bard gets so unbearably tight when Geralt tells him what a pretty girl he is.

Geralt finds the face paint in Novigrad, and Jaskier all but rips it out of his hands after a small push of Axii. He practices diligently, and soon he's done up with kohl and blush and lip paint. It should look ridiculous, the cut of his jaw too sharp, everything about him too angular, but when he blinks those blue eyes of his at Geralt, rimmed with kohl, when he bites those cherry red lips as Geralt fucks him, Geralt almost forgets.

With the face paint and the long hair, the illusion gets better every day, and Jaskier just… accepts everything. The smallest push of Axii, and he submits to whatever Geralt tells him. It's intoxicating.

Geralt doesn't realise just how deep this changed perception of self runs until two years after he started all of this. They're in a clearing, the rain pelting the roof and the sides of their tent, and he is curled around Jaskier from behind, fucking him slow and gentle. It's been a long day, with the rain and contracts sparse, and he just wants to lose himself in his good girl for now.

Jaskier reaches down when Geralt nips the long line of his throat, twines their fingers together where Geralt is holding him by the hip. "I've been thinking," the bard murmurs, voice breathy with arousal, and then he tugs Geralt's hand away from his hip. He guides it to his stomach, just beneath his belly button, and Geralt's heart stutters. "I know the Path is dangerous and no place for a child, but…"

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

"You want… You want me to-"

Jaskier looks back at him over his shoulder. He's biting his lower lip, looking anxious all of a sudden. "I'd understand if you said no, really, I would." He pushes back against Geralt, forcing his cock deeper into his arse. "I just can't stop thinking about it."

Now that the idea is in Geralt's head, neither can he. He pictures it, Jaskier swollen with a child,  _ his _ child, chest filling out until he'd have the sweetest little tits, heavy with milk. Geralt knows it'll never happen,  _ can't _ happen, for two very obvious reasons. But half the fun is in trying, isn't it?

He rolls Jaskier onto his stomach and slides back into him, and the bard moans and tilts his hips up. "Is that what you want," Geralt asks as he rolls his hips, fucking Jaskier slow and deep, "want me to put a baby in you? Get you big and heavy with my pup?"

Jaskier's eyes flutter and his skin prickles with goosebumps. " _ Yes _ , I want it, want to, fuck, Geralt, I-" He cuts himself off, stuffs his fist into his mouth, and Geralt leans down, kisses his shoulder.

"What? Tell me."

Jaskier hides his face in the bedroll, and he whimpers when Geralt changes the angle of his thrusts, finds his sweet spot. "You'll get angry."

"I won't." He brushes Jaskier's hair aside, nips at his throat, the shell of his ear. "What is it?"

"I…" Jaskier's lip trembles, and he tilts his hips more, tries to get Geralt deeper. "I want to be yours," he gasps, "want to be…" He arches his back, clenches around Geralt. "Fuck, I'm so close, please, I-"

"Jaskier,  _ tell me _ ."

"I want to be your wife," Jaskier cries, and then he's coming, going vice-tight around Geralt's cock, and Geralt's world tilts on its axis.

_ Wife _ , the bard said. Geralt hadn't put any of that into his head, but it's there regardless. He stares down at Jaskier's face, flushed with pleasure, and then he curls around him, fucks him through his orgasm. "You are," he murmurs against the bard's shoulder, "you already are, Jask, my pretty, lovely little wife." Jaskier moans and whimpers, and Geralt grabs a fistful of his hair as he fucks him quicker, harder. "Gonna fuck you full, fuck a baby into you. You want that?"

Jaskier moans again, hands curled into the bedroll. "Yes, please, please, I want it, wanna have your baby, be a good wife,  _ ah _ !"

_ Fuck _ . Geralt loses it. He hammers into Jaskier, holding him down by the hair and with the bulk of his body, and all Jaskier does is cry for more. "Gonna fucking breed you," he grits out, his thrusts relentless as he rushes towards his peak. "Get you so full and sloppy you'll have no choice, it'll have to catch- ah,  _ fuck _ , Jaskier-"

He comes, and Jaskier cries out as he comes for a second time, his hole milking Geralt for all he's worth, and some distant, animal part of Geralt's brain buys into the illusion, the delusion. It'll catch, it thinks, and Geralt wants to believe it.

He drops down onto the bedroll beside Jaskier, breathing hard, and Jaskier brushes the hair out of his face to look at him. He's flushed, his eyes bright, and he looks so  _ happy _ . "Do you think it'll take," he asks, sounding so hopeful, and Geralt reaches over and strokes his cheek.

"Better get on your knees, keep your arse up," he murmurs. He's heard this, somewhere, overheard it really, from some peasant woman talking to a friend. One has to keep the spunk inside, she'd said, for as long as possible, to give it the chance to get where it's supposed to go.

Jaskier does as he's told, pulling his knees under himself to raise his arse into the air. It looks a little ridiculous, to be honest, but it stirs something in Geralt. Jaskier pillows his head on his arms, face turned to Geralt. He smiles softly. "Did you mean it," he asks, and at Geralt's questioning grunt adds, "That I'm your… your wife?"

Geralt rolls onto his side and kisses him. "I did. I do." He strokes his hand over Jaskier's back, then down to his stomach. "My perfect little wife."

* * *

Things continue like this for a while, with Jaskier begging to be fucked, to be filled, to be bred every day. Geralt is only too happy to comply. He adds a little extra push, for Jaskier to be a good wife, a good girl, and, in a rush of madness, a good little mother for their pup. It's daft. He knows there is no baby, there can't be one, but he would be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy this.

He notices the change two months later. Jaskier is on his back, his arms hooked over his legs, holding himself open for Geralt as he fucks him, and that's when Geralt notices the  _ jiggling _ . Jaskier's chest bounces with every thrust, and when Geralt reaches down, there is enough to cup in his hand. Enough to call a tit. He can't stop staring, and when he thumbs at the nipple, Jaskier cries out, twitching all over.

"Geralt, what-"

"You have breasts," Geralt breathes, and Jaskier looks down at himself, his eyes widening.

"So I do." He cups his other tit, carefully, his mouth falling open. "Geralt, do you think this means…"

It can't. It's impossible. Jaskier's body, however, doesn't seem to care. It's following what is in Jaskier's mind, building what it needs to nurture a babe, and Geralt can't stop touching. It's barely a handful, really, and Jaskier is horribly sensitive, crying out when Geralt pinches his nipple.

It's enough to drive Geralt half insane, and he bows his head and sucks and bites at Jaskier's nipples, each in turn, and Jaskier writhes and cries under him. He comes, just from that, and Geralt pulls out of him just before his own orgasm, spilling all over Jaskier's tits.

The changes continue, both physical and mental. Geralt keeps reinforcing everything he has put in the bard's head, and it's not long before Jaskier starts complaining about having to wear "men's clothing". It's uncomfortable, he complains, his nipples rubbed raw against the fabric of his chemise. His tits continue to grow, until they're visible beneath his clothes, sweet and full, perky, and when they're next in Novigrad, he buys the bard a full set of dresses and underclothes. Jaskier is ecstatic, and Geralt fucks him in his pretty new silks.

"My spoiled little girl," he pants against Jaskier's ear as he pounds him, and Jaskier cries and moans so prettily when he comes, soiling the delicate fabric.

When Jaskier's stomach begins to swell, Geralt grows concerned. Axii is powerful, yes, but this is surely a step too far. He consults with a healer, keeping things just vague enough, but the woman reassures him. "It's rare but it happens. We call it a sympathetic pregnancy, when the man will develop similar symptoms to what his partner is going through. Morning sickness, bloating, even labour!" She chuckles. "Your friend should be fine once the real baby is born."

Geralt hums and pays her for her time, thinking.

There is no real baby. There is no point in time where this will stop. He'll have to come up with a solution sooner rather than later.

A couple of months after all this started, when Jaskier belly is undeniable and his tits are heavy and sore a lot of the time, Jaskier is riding Geralt in their tent. He's holding onto his breasts to keep them from bouncing as he moves, face somewhere between pleasure and pain. His back arches when he comes, and he squeezes his tits reflexively, and the next thing Geralt knows, he gets a faceful of milk. Jaskier yelps, panicking for a second, but Geralt is already sitting up, pulling his nipple into his mouth.

Jaskier cries and whines as Geralt sucks on him, the pain in his breast enough to make him weep, but he squeezes so tight around Geralt with every suck, and he tastes so fucking  _ good _ . Geralt releases him, looking up at him. Jaskier's mouth hangs open, brows knit together, and Geralt kisses his jaw. "Taste so sweet, Jask," he whispers, and Jaskier shudders and shoves his head towards the other breast. Geralt obliges, gladly.

He doesn't know how he'll solve this problem when Jaskier's "pregnancy" ought to be over. He could get an infant from somewhere, but Jaskier was right. The Path is no place for a child. He could tell Jaskier the child died, during the birth. Jaskier would be sad, yes, but they could try again. And again, and again. If things got too bad, he could just make Jaskier forget. 

He'll find a solution, when it is time. For now, he's determined to make the most of it, to enjoy his little wife, milky and constantly needy. After all, it makes Jaskier so very happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://oldandkinky.tumblr.com/)


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